White Owl Read online

  “They lied,” she said quietly. “I have been counting the days until I could return to you.” She touched his face as if she needed reassurance that he was real, too. “Then how did you know to find me here?”

  White Owl breathed in the delicious scent of her hair before he answered her. “Donavan,” he said.

  A poignant smile came over her soft pink lips as she continued to touch his cheek, his nose, his mouth, his chin.

  Her touch was like a curing tonic. He felt the hole in his gut beginning to heal. He encircled her waist and pulled her up to him. She did not resist, and the feel of her in his arms made him complete once more. He breathed in the scent of her hair again, and then leaned down to kiss those pink lips. But as his head bent and his eyes closed, he felt a strange presence. His eyes flew open and looked at her face. In anticipation of the kiss, her lids were closed and her mouth pursed and ready. “Wild Rose?”

  Her eyes flew open, and her brows drew together quizzically.

  White Owl leaned back and looked down at her midsection, where he had just felt the hard little ball that he knew hadn’t been there the last time he had seen her. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He looked back up at her face. She was smiling at him as she grabbed one of his hands and placed it on her swollen stomach.

  “Your child is excited to meet his father. Feel how he kicks with happiness.”

  The feel of little thumps against his palm made his legs grow weak, and the awe of realizing that she was carrying his baby was a joy he could not even find the words to describe. He looked at her again. Her radiance illuminated her beautiful face. In the long winter months he had spent alone in the cave at Vermillion Basin dreaming of the day that he would see her again, he had never once imagined that their meeting could be so wondrous.

  The realization that she had already been with child when they had been torn apart only increased his hatred of her father. He could only be grateful that they had found each other before the birth of the child, or else White Owl had no doubt that he would have made Paddy Adair regret the day he had ever come between him and his Wild Rose.

  “Are you happy about the baby, White Owl?” Rose asked after his long silence. A worried expression had replaced her smile.

  “I-I cannot even begin to put my happiness into words. If we had not been together when this child is born—”

  Rose placed her finger against his mouth. “But we will be, so let’s just remember the love that created this miracle and concentrate on our future.”

  “The rest of our lives begins today.” He placed his hand against her stomach again. A tender grin touched his lips, and he was overcome with emotion again at the realization that he was going to be a father. He pulled his wife close and claimed that much-awaited kiss.

  Rose’s lips responded to his kiss with an unquenchable thirst; they had been deprived for far too long. She reached up and shoved the floppy hat from his head, releasing his hair from its hold. As the long mass tumbled free she immersed her fingers in its long abundance. She pressed against him with all her strength, fearful that if she let go, he might disappear from her life again.

  Much to her dismay, breathing became a necessity, and they were finally forced to part. “I love you, White Owl. And my love grows more with every breath I take.”

  “And I will love you, my Wild Rose, until I take my dying breath.” A teasing smile curved his lips as he pulled back and touched her stomach again, adding, “And I can see how your love for me grows.”

  Rose felt a blush heat her cheeks. The baby kicked again, and she could see by the way White Owl’s eyes widened that he had felt it, too. “Your son is obviously as excited as I am.”

  White Owl’s eyes narrow slightly. “I feel the kick of my daughter, because I can already tell that she is as feisty as her mother.”

  Rose laughed at his comment. She had not felt this kind of carefree happiness for so long. “I see that we have different opinions about this child. I know without a doubt that it is a boy.”

  He raised one dark brow up and shook his head. “No, she has the kick of a girl. I know these things.”

  Rose rolled her eyes and leaned forward again to revel in his nearness. She laid the side of her face against his broad chest and felt him burrow his face in her hair. Everything was right in their world again . . . or for this moment, at least.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “Where are you taking me now?” White Owl asked as Wild Rose pulled him up from the chair he was sitting in. She had already sat him down at the kitchen table and fed him eggs, flapjacks and sausage until he was so stuffed he could barely move. He was glad that he didn’t eat white man’s food all the time, or he would be as fat as a cow.

  He had not been able to take his eyes off her as she moved around the kitchen preparing the morning meal. She had always been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but carrying their child had only added to her loveliness. Her brilliant red hair seemed even thicker now as it tumbled down her back in heavy waves, and her face looked smooth and radiant. But it was the small rounded bump in her midsection that kept drawing his attention. There was a tiny child inside of her—his child—and this realization filled him with an equal amount of pride and pain. He could not help worrying about what kind of life he would be able to provide for this child and his wife during such times of turmoil. But he was determined that nothing else would matter as long as they were all together, and he was never letting her out of his sight again.

  Wild Rose laughed as they headed down the long hallway past the kitchen. “You look like you need a bath, and my Aunt Maggie has an exceptionally large copper tub.”

  White Owl remembered the white man’s bathtubs from his youth. They had never been as good as bathing in the river, but the thought of the thick muddy waters of the Platte River did not seem very welcoming. Besides, if his Wild Rose was with him, he could make do in a bathtub for one time.

  They were in the small washroom now, and he couldn’t miss the enormous tub sitting in the center of the room. There was barely enough space to walk around the tub.

  “That is a horse’s trough, not a tub,” he said.

  Wild Rose’s lyrical laugh rang out again. “My aunt said this was her one big indulgence.”

  “It is big,” White Owl agreed. “Speaking of your aunt, should I be worried about her returning and finding me here?”

  “She knows all about you and about my plan to go back to you after the baby was born,” Rose explained. “She understands, but she will not be back until lunchtime.” She turned loose of his hand and grabbed a water bucket. “I’ll start getting the water heated.” She glanced at him, adding, “You can get out of those dirty clothes.”

  White Owl’s thoughts were filled with her words—she had been planning to come back to him. How had he thought for one instant that she had run off to Ireland to get away from him? He told himself that he would never dwell on that thought again as he returned his attention to the present.

  Glancing down at himself, White Owl realized he was a sight, and not a good one, at that. The last thing he had been worried about when he was traveling here to find his woman was his clothes. His buckskin shirt and pants were covered with grime and stains, and even his fringed knee-high moccasins were black with mud stains. He was sure his hair and face weren’t much cleaner, and he undoubtedly smelled like a horse. No wonder she wanted him to take a bath before she spent too much more time in his presence.

  “I’ll be getting that water,” he said, grabbing the bucket from her. “Where is the water well, or should I get it from the river?” Fleetingly, he thought about being seen if he went to the river to get water, but her next words took care of those worries.

  Rose chortled. “Oh, wait till you see this. My aunt has water right here in the house . . . it’s the latest modern invention.” She led him back into the kitchen to a strange contraption that looked like a long handle attached to a curved pipe. He stared at it quizzically. When she p
ulled down on the long handle several times and water came gushing out of the curved pipe, White Owl nearly dropped the bucket.

  “How is that possible?” he asked as he tried to look up the pipe where the water was pouring out.

  “There is a pipe running all the way down to the river from right here in the house,” Rose answered with a chuckle. “It is truly amazing!”

  White Owl glanced away from the modern wonder and looked at Wild Rose. A frown drew his dark brows together. “Life here is so much easier than it will be with me, you know?”

  Her face grew serious and she narrowed her eyes. “The past few months have been the hardest times of my life, White Owl. Don’t you ever suggest that I would be better off here, do you hear me?”

  The angry expression on her face and her forceful tone convinced White Owl that he should change the subject. “Well, taking a bath in a white man’s tub is still not as good as the river.”

  Wild Rose grinned and her eyes glazed over for a moment. White Owl hoped that she was remembering the baths they shared in the Green River during their wedding trip. His mind was certainly dominated by those passionate memories, and his groin was reminding him of how long it had been since they were together.

  “Now, you start hauling that water to the tub and I’ll heat some water up to add to it.”

  White Owl snapped out of his trance and did as he was told. When she ordered him to remove his filthy clothes and step into the deep warm water in the tub, he was glad he had been obedient. The cold waters of the rivers and streams did not even begin to compare to the luxurious feel of this bath. Of course, he didn’t admit this to his wife.

  As he soaked the trail dust from his body, Rose put his clothes in a washbasin filled with soap and water and began to scrub them against a washboard until they were clean. She took them outside to hang from a line in the backyard.

  “Here, let me wash your hair,” Rose said as she hurried back to White Owl. She produced a round bar of white soap from a shelf and dunked it into his bathwater. The room filled with the scent that White Owl loved so much. It was the exhilarating smell of her hair, and reminded him of the way the forest smelled after a rainfall. He was helpless to stop the rise of his manhood in the warm water.

  Wild Rose was busy scrubbing his scalp with the wonderful-smelling soap and oblivious to his reaction. He tried to ignore the urges that were causing him enormous distress as she began to dump water over his head to rinse the soap out of his hair. The delicious-smelling soap, combined with her nearness, was too much for a man who had been without his woman for so long. When she leaned down to wet the washcloth, White Owl could not control himself.

  He grabbed her by the arms with the intention of pulling her down and merely kissing her, but she leaned forward at the same time he pulled her to him, and the next thing he knew, she was lying on top of him in the big tub. The splash of the water went everywhere, and by the time he realized what had happened, the sound of her giggling was also filling the room.

  “You could have just asked—I would have climbed in with you,” she chuckled.

  White Owl could not stop laughing as he looked at the way her wet hair was hanging around her face. Her luminous eyes were shining like a high country lake in the brightest sunshine as her laughter joined with his.

  His eyes were drawn lower and he suddenly became serious. Her white cotton gown was nearly transparent and he could see the fullness of her breasts above the roundness of her belly where the fabric clung to her skin and revealed every inch of her blossoming body. He groaned.

  “Am I clean enough to make love to you yet?” he asked in a raspy voice. He didn’t wait for her answer as he put a hand over one of her breasts, reveling in the fullness that she had not had in the past.

  “And here I thought maybe you were worn out from the trip. But now I can feel that you must not be too tired,” Rose teased.

  White Owl had been far too long without intimacy with his wife to wait any longer. Without hesitation, he began pulling her dripping gown up over her head. She raised her arms to make this task easier. She wore nothing else underneath, so once the gown was out of the way, their wet bodies melded together as White Owl turned her around so that she was facing him and sitting in his lap. He entered her the moment she was settled on top of him; they fit together like a hand in a glove. The months of being alone, dreaming of her, and being afraid of never seeing her again disappeared like a puff of smoke.

  They moved together as one—connected by body, heart and soul—as the water splashed up over the sides of the tub. White Owl tried to be gentle, reminding himself of her condition. It was obvious that she was not as limber as she had been before, but he was surprised to discover that even though the feel of her round belly pressed against him, she was as eager and passionate as ever. The idea that she was still so exuberant about making love to him, even as she carried his child, only expanded his own ardor. He moved his hands up to her full breasts as she arched back and cried out in ecstasy. As their love filled every fiber of his body, he made a vow: he would never let anything, or anyone, separate them again.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Rose had fantasized about the first time they would make love after their reunion throughout the past few months. But her musing had always envisioned them being together after the birth of their baby. When White Owl had not attempted to make love to her when he first arrived, she had worried that he didn’t plan to be intimate with her until after the baby was born. The moment she had been in his arms again, she had yearned to feel him inside of her. Was that normal for a woman in her condition, she wondered?

  Now, she realized that she didn’t care whether it was normal. She desired her virile husband, and nothing—not even the baby growing within her—could quench that need. With her back to him now, she reclined against him in the tub after their exuberant lovemaking. He tenderly rubbed her swollen belly, and she heard him sigh in contentment. She couldn’t imagine feeling any happier. Everything that she had prayed for and dreamed of since her father had torn them apart had just materialized, and months before she had anticipated. She only hoped she was not dreaming this time, but if she was, she never wanted to wake up again.

  “I hate to move,” White Owl whispered again her ear, “but I think we should be in a more acceptable position before your aunt returns. She might not be so understanding if she walks in on us like this.”

  As much as Rose hated to admit it, he was right. Besides, her legs were starting to hurt, and her back felt as though it was breaking. Even worse, she was certain she could not raise herself from this awkward position. “I need help. I’m too fat to get up,” she admitted in a disgusted tone.

  White Owl chuckled, but quickly grew silent when she glanced back over her shoulder and cast him a deadly look of warning. He instantly placed his hands around her expanding waist and helped her to stand up in the tub. He rose with her and carefully lifted her over the side of the deep tub. She grabbed a heavy knit blanket and wrapped it around herself as quickly as possible as she felt a hot fire shoot through her body and settle in her face.

  “Why are you acting like that?” White Owl demanded as he stepped over the side of the tub and stood in front of her. “Are you ashamed of my daughter growing in you?”

  “No—never!” Rose swallowed hard. “It’s just that I look so different now with your son inside of me, that I was afraid—”

  “You have never been more beautiful,” White Owl said as he reached out to cup her chin with his wet hand. He raised her face up so that they were staring directly into one another’s eyes. “As my daughter grows, so will my love and desire for you.”

  His tenderness made her tremble with happiness, in spite of the fact that he insisted on arguing with her about the sex of the baby. Her love for him encompassed her with such a rush that she felt weak and swooned against him.

  “Wild Rose,” he yelled as he caught her in his arms. He scooped her up and held her against him as he rushed
from the room with her in a blind panic. When he reached the end of the long hall, he looked around until he spotted the settee in the drawing room at the front of the house.

  “I’m fine,” Rose gasped. He would never want to make love to her again unless she could convince him that it was not unusual for a woman to feel faint when she was with child.

  “White Owl,” she said firmly as he placed her on the paisley velvet settee and pushed her back against the pillows. “Listen to me, I am fine. Women in my condition get light-headed sometimes.” She could tell by his worried expression that he wasn’t convinced.

  “We harmed my daughter with our lovemaking,” he said angrily. He kneeled on the floor beside her, oblivious to the fact that he was naked and dripping wet. His waist-length hair hung over his bare shoulders and was plastered against the sides of his face and down along the bulging muscles of his chest.

  Rose rolled her eyes upward and grunted with aggravation. “Oh, we did not, and it’s a son, not a daughter.” She couldn’t help chuckling when his worry faded into a deep frown and he pouted in a way that made him look like a five-year-old boy. The slamming of the front door interrupted Rose’s moment of mirth.

  “It’s such a beautiful spring day, the children and I are going to have a pic—Oh!” Maggie Carroll stopped dead in her tracks in the doorway of the drawing room.

  White Owl shot up from the floor, but then realized his precarious position. He threw his hands over his groin area, but that did little to distract from the situation.

  Rose sat up on the settee and exhaled sharply. “Aunt Maggie! What—I mean—oh dear Lord!” She glanced down and realized that the blanket was wadded up around her midsection and her swollen breasts were raised attentively above the blanket. Grabbing the blanket, she yanked it up over her rapidly heaving breasts. Her gaze flitted to White Owl, who was standing in all his naked glory at attention just like her breasts; only he had nothing to cover himself with. She gasped again as her horrified gaze flew to her Aunt Maggie’s face.